Small World
by Monochrome Insanity
Summary: Life is as crazy as ever in Ikebukuro, and lives continue to become ensnared in it's twisted web when Celty's head goes missing and Dollars members start being killed off. On hiatus.
1. Chapter 1:  Orihara Izaya

**Disclaimer: As a warning for the entire story, I own nothing. **

**I wrote this a few months ago right after reading through the light novels' translations and then totally abandoned it after finished about half of it. I figured I might as well post what I've written and, if I get reviews and random inspiration, I'll finish it up later on. Lots of spoilers for the novels - if you don't understand some of them and don't want to read them, it shouldn't be too hard to understand... **

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><p><strong>Orihara Izaya <strong>

**8:03pm**

Orihara Izaya leaned back in his leather chair, the creak of the plastic wheels familiar to his ears. It was his throne of sorts, and he reigned upon his kingdom gleefully from atop it, just as a vicious monarch would sit and enjoy watching his subjects' beheadings. The very thought of how perfectly the metaphor seemed to fit made him sigh in ecstasy, something one usually wouldn't do when thinking of guillotines.

He could hardly help it, though; the city of Ikebukuro, a place known for and sustained by its typical chaos and havoc, was especially strewn with disaccord recently. While a fair amount of it had managed to not only affect but also ensnare Izaya, he remained ever smug. After all the messy business with stabbings and kidnappings, he felt he deserved a break to relax - and enjoy viewing the other citizens struggling to stay afloat in the sea of the city, the waves of asphalt streets. His grin widened as he wondered how many would fail in their attempts and ultimately drown.

If anyone could be called king of Ikebukuro, Izaya would be unanimously picked. It wasn't that he was always in control - often, he was just as confused as anyone else when it came to the daily happenings of the town's most pivotal characters - it was that his demeanor built a false facade of infinite knowledge and, therefore, dominance in the game board of the city.

He could easily be called the weakest, too, not in physical strength but in mental. His lack of ethics and simple human empathy was hollowly replaced with an undying love for the species that he could never understand or truly fit in with. It wasn't the control over their emotions that gave him that love; it was the lack there of. His own weakness when faced with other humans and his natural lack of understanding toward them made him hate that something could strip away his shell so well, so he decided to love them. Love their spontaneity; love their feelings and how they act upon them. Love all that his own sociopathic tendencies didn't allow him to understand.

Yet he honestly did love them, in his own way.

He realized fully all his hypocrisies even while he wished to deny them. His own humanity in that matter amused him to the point of giving him something else to smile about.

His smile never left his lips, not when threatened with certain death, not when being chased by the strongest man in all of Ikebukuro, not when all chaos was about to break loose; except -

Except that fearsomely endless night that continued to haunt his nights, when his only comforts had been his sisters' voices - usually bubbly or apathetic - screaming out dreadfully strained cries because of him, and cold, heartless lips (lips that he had made that way) whispering miseries into his ear through wet linen.

He twirled his chair around, as if to escape the subject, and faced a window overlooking some of the best sights Japan had to offer. His smirk, which had never left his face completely, strengthened again after removed the thoughts that weakened its certainty. When all was said and done, he and his sisters were as healthy and quirky as ever. It merely cost him a couple sleepless nights (a strange occurrence for the confident conductor of the city) and many, many 'thank you's to his favorite Dullahan, though he still loathed the idea of ever having to show anyone a drop of earnest appreciation.

The abundance of lights radiated from the dark sea of building and shown through the large window, reflecting off of his unusually redish eyes. It felt like looking onto a chessboard and pondering over which piece to move where next. His control was back and not to be taken away again.

His game of chess was progressing nicely, too, by his standards:

Mikado' trauma and panic left him desperately trying to reign Dollars and the Blue Squares in, something that, even after so long, he has not managed to accomplish. His single success, though, lay in the fact that he had trumped Aoba Kuronuma thoroughly. He had done his best to use Mikado as a pawn, not knowing any better (though Izaya didn't know at the time either) and Izaya had even envisioned him as a nice little chess master. Until, of course, Mikado had made it quite clear that, while being used was quite fine as long as he himself benefitted, when Aoba moved in to take away more control than Mikado felt like relinquishing, he had made sure his kouhei knew who was boss - a lesson learned painfully through a pen wound in his hand.

Even after his short victory, Mikado remained unable to control the large and ever-growing gangs that were under his jurisdiction. They were too undefined - in the case of Dollars - therefore casing division on issues, and too malicious, something both gangs had grown to share. The legendary founder of Dollars wasn't going to get a peaceful sleep any time soon.

To make matter worse (or, in Izaya's humble opinion, more interesting), Mikado's former best friend and ex-leader of the Yellow Scarves was back in town, an event directly caused by Izaya's hand. Mikado wasn't in any state to handle it, too mentally worn from the fighting and too hardened compared to who he had been. Besides that, the time spent apart spread like an expanse of desert, and Izaya knew if they met again other than their brief run-in before, there would conflict. Not intentional, for they both harbored strong feelings for each other, the bond of childhood friends, but something - if not outright fighting - would happen. The two friends would certainly have a lot to discuss, especially seeing as their time spent apart had crafted both of their hardened souls intricately and similarly.

Aoba had been allowed back into the ranks of Blue Squares and, while the lesson Mikado instilled on him wasn't soon to be forgotten, Izaya knew that his plotting was far from over; manipulation was a hard habit to break. The little wanna-be chess master - who Izaya was disgusted to find out had considered himself close in intellect to the information broker - still had some sort of plan up his sleeve that he was just waiting to spring. Izaya knew, for it was abundantly obvious, that regardless of whether he succeeded with his little plot or not, it would certainly steepen the drama of the city. Aoba's success laid almost entirely on the shoulders of Mikado, but if the small high schooler had taught Izaya nothing else, it was that underestimating the seemingly innocent Dollars leader was a deadly mistake. The informant was quite fond of his hands the way they were - hole free.

Besides the gang life, Izaya couldn't help but marvel at all the activity going on elsewhere in Ikebukuro, a never-silent city. Ruri's stalker, following his attack on Shinra, attempted to target his fiancé, a bad choice. He could've simply asked any motorcyclist of the streets - police included - ever since the infamous hunt for her spurred on by the offer of 10,000,000 yen and found out that the very thought of aiming to attack the allusive headless rider had deadly consequences.

All in all, the stalker wasn't that much of a threat, considering that Celty had counterattacked with the fury of any woman whose boyfriend had been purposefully injured. Really, she was sometimes a lot more human in her emotions and actions than most of the town's citizens (quite a few of whom _weren't _human, Celty included, of course).

Not to mention that, despite Izaya's greatest efforts that weren't at all deterred by his unexpected stabbing (he wasn't one to give up) Yadogiri wasn't going to be easily found, even with the combined forces of many, many furious individuals seeking him. It might be better for Izaya if Yadogiri ran free, anyway. It gave him enough time to extract as much information about Saiki as possible. After all he had done to bring Vorona and Slon here and complicate all that business with Awakusu Akane, Izaya felt like he owed the devious man something. After dealing out a well-deserved revenge. He wasn't too high-and-mighty to admit that he yearned for vengeance toward the man who had indirectly caused his weak state and capture, leading to the terrible night that would have left deep, eternal trauma on any normal human. At least Izaya, Kururi, and Mairu weren't normal and therefore relatively unscathed, though they certainly were human whether they acted like it or not.

Ikebukuro, throughout all the chaos, remained as sturdy a civilization as ever, staying undying and unaffected by all the strange happenings. If it was possible for Izaya to love anything more than humans, it would be the city. Despite all sorts of inhuman, monstrous inhabitants making no effort to protect the city from their destructive ways (Izaya, debatably, being one of them), it stood strong and levelheaded. Almost comparable to a metal and cement Simon - though Izaya imagined that, if the city were personified, it would speak better Japanese.

His own mind never stopped amusing Izaya, the thoughts weaving in and out of his consciousness. Even when thinking of all the insane happenings going on, he couldn't help but feel as though there was more to come. Like all the chaos presently happening was merely the exposition to a larger, crazier scheme. His lips parted to reveal smiling teeth. He hoped that humanity would never stop exceeding his expectations.

At that, he spun his chair back around, a quiet laugh escaping from his mouth and his hands in the air. His eyes opened, facing the room in front of him, and his smile faltered, if only for a second, when he noticed that one piece was out of place. He felt, deep inside himself, that his thoughts of a bigger event about to happen on the horizon had come too late, for it seemed as though whatever was about to arise had already been initiated. Lo, his grin reappeared and his laugh began again, louder and lower, and his trembling back shook the chair below him.

_Yes, humans have barely even begun to show me what they are capable of, _he thought, as his eyelids slid up and his pupils fell onto the decidedly empty space on his tall bookcase:

Celty's head was gone.

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><p><strong>Basically just a long exposition. Eh, whatever, I like writing Izaya.<strong>

**Please tell me if I have anything wrong with the continuity; I'm not used to writing plot-ful stuff. Also, ****I would absolutely adore reviews whether you liked it or hated it.**


	2. Chapter 2: Kida Masaomi

**Yay Kida!**

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><p><strong>Kida Masaomi <strong>

**9:00pm**

The streets of Ikebukuro were notorious for the danger brought about in them. Whether from color gangs or deadly individuals, the dark, paved roads were not safe to walk. This applied twice as much at night, especially for anyone who wasn't at all prepared to defend themself.

Despite this, Kida Masaomi walked down the streets, practically strutting as though he owned the place. Of course, he was faking his confidence in an attempt to distract himself from the urgent matter at hand.

Even though the night held unspeakable dangers, Masaomi felt more a home on those streets that hadn't touched the soles of his shoes in so long than anywhere else right now. He wanted to stay there, right smack dab in the middle of the alley in which he now stood. He bounced slightly from the heel to the ball of his foot, killing as much tiime as possible. If he was truly going to do what he planned to do, he needed all the time he could get in order to prepare.

breathe in -

breathe out -

breathe in -

breathe out -

It was no use, he wasn't going to be able calm his nerves. He wished desperately to return to the Masaomi he used to be, before all this gang business got in the way. He thought back to a year ago, when Mikado first arrived in Ikebukuro; when his biggest worry in the world was the preservation of their love triangle. Truth be told, he had worries back then, too, mostly revolving around his hospilized girlfriend, an issue which, for the time being, was resolved. He also thought back to times before that, before the city took his soul - before he _willingly_ gave his soul to the city. He and Mikado as children, his hair unbleached and free, just as his smile used to be. He knew that if, at any time tonight, his lips curved into a grin, it wouldn't be genuine. He couldn't imagine being happy tonight.

Masaomi knew his way by heart, tracing the route thrice over in his mind and twice over with his feet before decided that he knew where it was. The only thing stopping him was his own embarrassment and nervousness. While he was reluctant to admit it, Izaya had proved to be a large influence on his trip tonight. He liked to think that he was ruled only by his own free will, but he knew inside that his obedience of Izaya was possibly just as much a handicap to him as it was to Saki. He knew that, while great strides had been taken, she was still a slave to him, and he was too, now more than ever.

He hated himself for that, for, no matter the circumstances, alway running back to Izaya as though from some strange attraction. He didn't want to informant to be the center of his world.

_I will escape, _he kept thinking, _Saki and I, together __will disentangle ourselves from his trap._

He didn't like to think of the alternative. Continuing to revolve around Izaya, becoming his toy thing only to tossed away as any toy is when a child grows bored of it. Masaomi hated that about Izaya - how he swore he loved all humanity, yet managed to toss away a single life without so much as a bat of an eye. Masaomi would be the first one to admit that he didn't know a lot about love, but he knew that that kind of love wasn't the kind anyone would strive for. Love wasn't a feeling; it was a commitment.

Izaya had no commitment to humanity.

Yet the teenager continued to play the game exactly as Izaya expected. He followed his advice to return to the city, hardly even bothered him upon finding out about his hacked account and the messages Izaya sent to Mikado, and even now the reinvention of Yellow Scarves was truly being carried out by Izaya using Kida as his puppet so as to not get in trouble.

Masaomi cleared his head, his feet tracing and re-tracing the same three meters. He was trying to think away his problems, think of anything but what he was about to do. He couldn't go in there without thinking about it, yet winging it seemed so appealing to him right then. He knew that nothing would be said besides what needed to be. He really hoped that was a good thing.

It was almost like a cruel satire of their reunion a year ago, when Mikado had come into the city, unknowledgeable and timid, bumbling and confused, looking to Masaomi - who was knee deep in the shit of the city - for guidance. But now the roles were reversed. Even though Masaomi didn't want to admit that, at the moment, he was awfully bumbling and confused.

He knew the gist of it - that Mikado held power over Blue Squares and Dollars, with that little twerp Aoba constantly by his side, despite his obvious plans for betrayal. Izaya had told Masaomi just enough so that he would be intreiged to the point of returning and facing Mikado but not enough to give him any sort of advantage. All he really knew for sure was that his (former?) best friend was in over his head, just as he himself had been, and that he needed to talk to him. He couldn't keep running away.

Of course, he had thought of visiting Anri, too. She had been his friend just as much as Mikado, but childhood friends took precedence. He would work things out with Saika's owner later and simply hope, until then, that it wasn't too far gone and that they'd be able to reconsole.

He already felt as though he and Mikado were too far apart. He didn't want to think of all the things he had done, all the shame that followed him and whispered into his ear, trying to convince him to go home. He didn't want to think of all the things he hadn't done, like speak up on that night when he saw his friend cry, tears of utter distress soaking is cheeks. He didn't want to think of what Mikado had done, either. All the things he had missed that Izaya wouldn't tell him.

His own hesitation to walk up to the apartment grasped him forcefully, as though pressuring him to relive the fateful night when he had been unable to rescue Saki. That was what convinced him.

His arm, still too hesitant for his liking, carefully gripped the rusted railing on the steps. He trudged up them, feet dragging, suddenly filled with a new fear that he might not even be there, in his small, cramped apartment.

step-

step-

step-

And then the door loomed in front of him, unimpressive yet intimidating. It meant so much - everything that needed to be overcome and everything previously overcome. His finger danced lightly on the doorbell before he took a deep breath and, with every cell in his brain screaming no firmly and loudly, he pressed down.

One second.

Two seconds.

Seven seconds.

Twelve seconds.

Footsteps.

Sixteen seconds.

The knob turned.

It all seemed so melodramatic in his mind, every action playing out like a slo-mo scene in a crime drama, complete with close ups and suspenseful music. He wished he wasn't so nervous, that his palms weren't sweating quite so much.

The door opened a crack, accompanied by a high-pitched creak of hinges that seemed fitting in the trashy apartment scenery. The door swung open fully in one clean motion, for the person behind the it was far less nervous than the ex-gang leader (and possible future gang leader) who stood in front of it was. The metal door scraped against the concrete ground with an unbelievably high-pitched squeak.

Masaomi was greeted by an over-ecstatic smile stretching across a pale face. Girly blues that certainly didn't fit the normal image of a high school gang leader twinkled under black bangs. A hand reached out to grab Masaomi's, and he instinctively flinched back, startled by his greeter's apparent lack of surprise.

"I've been looking forward to properly introducing myself to you, Kida Masaomi!" Kuronuma Aoba said with a transfixing smile.

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><p><strong>Oh look, I entirely ignored Celty's head...<strong>


	3. Chapter 3: Kuronuma Aoba

**Kuronuma Aoba**

**9:33pm**

There aren't a lot of occurences that could be more awkward than a civil, if not friendly, meeting between the creators of the three most prominent and dangerous gangs in the city of Ikebukuro within one small, cramped apartment.

Aoba couldn't help but smile at the silence that enveloped the air. He knew that whatever happened tonight, it would be fairly fun to watch.

Kida had arrived under the pure intentions of tying any loose ends with his childhood friend. When Aoba answered the door, relaxed and suave as ever, his face had been priceless. The fake smile he always wore that he had crafted specially to make up with Mikado tonight had faltered and hadn't quite returned since.

Aoba had taken quite an interest in Kida upon hearing the way his senpai spoke of him with such respect, though that was short-lived. He already knew enough about Kida to understand the gist of his reign on Yellow Scarves and what had happened with Blue Squares, obviously. Aoba had sat and watched calmly from the sidelines as that particular plan was orchaestrated. As soon as he dug into his history though, he was disappointed to find that he remained a simple puppet to Orihara Izaya, despite the fact that he had influenced the attack on Kida's girlfriend more so than Blue Squares. Why would his senpai, who always seemed to know what to do and have something more hidden up his sleeve (specifically a ballpoint pen), adore the wanna-be shogun?

"Ah, hello," Kida greeted him, rolling with the surprise and comfortably walking into the apartment. At least, he was pretending to be comfortable. Aoba spied him wringing his hands together and silently shook his head at how blatantly obvious the boy was about his emotions. _Way_ too easy to read. "Izumii, was it?"

Now that hit a nerve. His grin momentarily falling from his lips, Aoba took a steady breath before correcting him. "Kuronuma. Kuronuma Aoba."

"Oh, sorry! My bad. I knew your brother before, and I guess something...?" His words trailed off with an implication, and Aoba knew - just as he had the second he uttered the name "Izumii" - that Kida knew his name perfectly fine. If Izaya hadn't told him already, he definitely would have made an effort to figure out more after returning to the city and briefly running into Mikado. He did it only to annoy him, and Aoba was not impressed by the petty blow.

"Seeing as this isn't my place, and if you and I are on any terms at all, they aren't friendly ones, then I assume you're here for Ryuugamine-senpai?" Aoba said like the perfect host, gesturing to the other room graciously. He had picked his words quickly but carefully enough so that he knew Kida would get the message: "Mikado is my jurisdiction now." Judging from his face, he got the message.

_Really, little Yellow Scarf, you must learn to control your expressions. It almost takes the fun out of playing you._

"Aoba, who was that?" Mikado called from the other room, and Kida visibly twitched, once again letting his feelings become apparent to the world. No wonder he felt he couldn't return due to shame...

Aoba kept quiet before walking into the room, Kida trailing behind him. He felt very much like the host of a game show or a talk show, revealing the surprise guest. He wasn't sure he liked that metaphor for the situation, for he saw nothing special in the cliche-looking thug with bleached hair and a pierced ear.

But when Kida turned the corner into the room, Mikado audibly gasped - _what's with all this noticeable emotion?_ - and stood up automatically as though his legs moved on their own, like students when their principal enters the classroom. He seemed nearly guilty, being caught in his apartment with Aoba.

"H-hey," Mikado said, blue eyes blinking rapidly.

"Hey," said Kida, the slightest tremble on his lips as he faded back into the comfortable form of conversation they used to share. "I guess I haven't changed appearance enough to give you three options again?"

Mikado laughed into his hand with a genuine smile, something Aoba hadn't seen in weeks. Their little inside jokes didn't amuse him, and he didn't want Kida thinking he could just come back and act as though nothing happened between them.

Both of them opened their eyes at the same time - Mikado's closed from laughter, Kida's from his smile. When they each raised their gaze, they reached each other's, pausing to search the eyes each one stared into, checking to see how much of the familiar eyes had changed with emotional wear.

Aoba could have thrown up.

"That joke," Mikado said, either to break the silence before it descended into awkwardness or because he just wanted to say it, "was actually okay."

Kida laughed, stopping only to cry out, _"You foooooool!_ All my jokes are pure _genius_!" Aoba could tell he was still nervous, but their nostalgic banter seemed to calm his nerves. His leg had stopped jittering from pent up energy.

Interrupting his own chuckles, Mikado perked up with an "Oh!" as though he remembered something. "Just to straighten any confusion out, Masaomi, this is Kuronuma Aoba. Aoba, this is Kida Masaomi."

Now that just a small corner of the elephant in the room had been addressed, however slightly, the matter at hand would be impossible to ignore with jokes and laughs. A silence spread as both Aoba and Kida pretended that a) they didn't already know each other's name, and b) they were happy to see each other. Even the short kouhei's lips tired of their age-old smile.

"Uh, I guess, come over here," Mikado said nervously, his anxious persona coming out as he led Kida to a seat on the floor. "I'll get something to drink, and then we can... talk about.. you know..." Well, at least Mikado wasn't just going to ignore the issue, in his own way. He scurried away, socks squeaking just the slightest against the wooden floor. As soon as that small background noise left them, Aoba and Kida were left alone in silence.

Aoba stared intently at the blonde-headed fool, who seemed solely focused on averting eye contact. He thought of how different he and Kida were. While their outer facades were both molded similarly, both fitting the hole Mikado needed to have filled perfectly, their inner selves were polar opposites.

Aoba was cunning and smart, along with having every quality a gang founder ought to. He planned ahead and flawlessly hid his emotions.

Kida, on the other hand, had no control over himself. His heart ruled his every action, causing him to act fickle and without prior thought. He had left Ikebukuro on a whim and returned on one. He was everything Aoba was not and never wanted to be.

Or maybe they were more similar than the kouhai cared to admit.

He brushed away the thought just a Mikado glided into the room, a tray in hand with drinks upon it, looking the part of the perfect housewife and not at all like an intimidating gang leader.

"I have water and orange Fanta - it was the only soda in here."

Kida just smiled and accepted the orange soda with a comment on how he liked Fanta, doing his best to be casual. Aoba hated how he was acting as though nothing happened.

"So," started Mikado as he sat down next to Aoba. Aoba liked that. "How's Saki?"

Kida made a short startled noise as he choked a bit, his lips pressed to the metal can. He straightened his back and wiped sticky juice from his chin. "She's fine, fine. We're saving up for her leg surgeries; it still hasn't fully recovered."

The last comment almost sounded, to Aoba, like a light insult at him, as though he thought his girlfriend's broken leg had been Aoba's fault. Admittedly, he couldn't really blame him for thinking so.

Mikado nodded kindly, his smile wearing a bit thin at Kida's use of "we," as though they were thoroughly committed to each other. His head lowered the slightest bit, as if the thought made him feel more lonely than he had in all the months in which Kida was actually gone.

"How's Anri? I've been thinking of visiting her," asked Kida in response, as though they were simply two friends who hadn't had time to meet up in a while and were discussing their girlfriends. And for just a second, it did seem that simple.

"She's great, I guess. She got tied up in a little business, earlier, but as far as I know, it all got sorted out." Aoba could feel his hand throb underneath the bandage that covered his old wound and seemed like it would never be removed.

Kida glanced down, looked shamed at Anri's possible trouble, blaming himself for her pain even when he wasn't present. _This guy needs to work out his emotion_s, thought Aoba as observed the blonde's blatant guilt.

Mikado cleared his throat, and Kida immediately perked up to sit at attention to listen to his best friend.

"I, uh, heard you were starting Yellow Scarves back up?" Mikada said the statement as a question, his voice nervous even if he was sure of himself. A silence expanded heavily in the room for only a few seconds before the kouhei of the group spoke up, not to fill the silence, but merely to make the next one all the more awkward.

"It's all the informant's doing, right?"

Kida reacted marvelously to that, his head turned quickly around to stare down Aoba with both anger and shock. Was Kida under the impression that he knew nothing? It was obvious that he was Izaya's plaything. Mikado looked at him too, innocently startled.

"What?" Aoba asked indifferently. "Is the little kid not allowed to join the big boy conversation?"

Kida, who was quite tense and pissed off at the twerp, to say the least, put his hand down on the table hard - not quite slamming it, though - and leaned toward him, asking, "Isn't it past your bedtime?"

Aoba smirked in response.

"So, about the Yellow Scarves...?" Mikado prompted, trying both to stop a fight and return to the topic.

"Sorry, Mikado," Kida said, getting up, and Aoba felt a wave of triumph rush over him as his enemy retreated, "but I'll catch up with you later. I can't tell you much about it, but at least know that I'm doing this to atone for what I've done in the past."

"I just," started Mikado, standing up to follow his childhood friend to the door, "I just don't want you making the same mistake twice!"

Kida turned at the door and smiled sadly at him. "I won't. This time, it'll be better. I won't run from the past anymore, but I want to continue to the future. It's important, what I'm doing, so just... I'll see you later."

With that, he turned the knob that his fingers had been tentatively playing with and pushed open the apartment's door. His white hood was the last thing to slip out of the doorway

Mikado laughed softly, asking to himself, "When did he get so mature?"

Aoba had watched the show with must detest from his sitting position on the floor, glowering at Kida's smooth exit. He overheard Mikado's question and responded the only way he knew how to - rudely.

"It's nothing to celebrate if a sixteen-year-old boy finally learns how to act with the maturity of a ten-year-old." Mikado swiveled around hostily, fixing a glare on Aoba. He sighed, knowing that Dollars' founder was not in any kind of mood to be teased.

Aoba picked up the can left by Kida following his brief visit and, after skeptically shaking the can and the liquid inside, downed a quick swig.

He wiped his mouth, finding security in the fact that he and Kida also differed in their taste in drinks. Orange was disgusting.

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><p><strong>The only reason Fanta was included: www . youtube . com watch?v=vR65wVQdaI8**


	4. Chapter 4: Celty Sturluson

**Yay! Back to the stolen head plot line.**

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><p><strong>Celty Sturluson <strong>

**8:27pm**

The city could embrace you like a lost child and guide you home. The city could take you in, beat you up, and leave you abandoned by yourself. The city was fickle with chosing its loved ones, victims, and everyone in between. There was hardly any pattern to grasp onto nor consistency in the people suffering on the city's streets. Ikebukuro was cruel in a way that, half the time, lacked any meanness whatsoever.

Just as the city was indecisive, so was Celty. Hers was different, though, in that no one suffered directly from her actions unnecessarily. Even considering the blatant difference, her sort of fickleness seemed one with the city's, as though when Ikebukuro was in a good mood, so was she. She could ride her horse down the streets, one after another, over and over again. It was a wild sort of freedom. Even though the rolling hills of Ireland were forever her home, the heartbeat of the asphalt, concrete, and metal resonanced with hers as her wheels pounded into the streets, allowed her to feel the foot steps of every citizen that she had come to love. It was as exhilarating wildness that the streets pumped through her blood. There, she needed nothing - not a head nor humanity - to be one of the citizens who, no matter how human they were, could be much stranger than even she.

There were times when she, along with the city, was reined in to a tame consistency or, more often, tamed into being something even more wild. Yet, when it came down to the bare bone of their essence, she and city were equal, in that neither was truly ruled by anyone. They were free whenever they needed to be.

Except Celty did feel like a slave sometimes, only to herself, though, and to her own emotions. She was, as the city never could be, in love. She had risen past the point of immature denial and accepted it as the one area in which she was both weaker than and superior the streets she called home.

In its own way, though, Ikebukuro could be said to be in love - with its citizens, with its buildings, with every step that echoes from the soles of shoe to its concrete sidewalks. Its love was both pure and raw, more so than hers.

Her emotions ran as fickle as the city's, too. Some days were days for chancing her luck as the Headless Rider on the busy streets. Others were days for staying home, relaxing like any normal person, and sometimes (God forbid) cuddling with fiance.

As it happened, the day she reencountered her head was neither such days.

It had started out plain - a shower, mild sexual harassment from Shinra - and it continued to develop that way. Izaya had no missions for his courier throughout the day, and it seemed terribly boring, as she neither wanted to sit at home, nor did she yearn to carry out a job for the informant. She had fumbled around her apartment for a while, doing odd jobs as she truly accomplished nothing.

The outside world was decidedly boring to the point of challenged the mundane aura within her home. The sun was out, yes, but barely a wind touched a rooftop or a cloud taint the blue sky. It wasn't hot. It wasn't cold. The weather was as pointedly neutral as her own feelings, and it was killing her. A siren scarcely touched an ear drum for the entirety of the day, making it out to be possibly the most average day ever. Who would've known that life as a dullahan could be so, so dull.

As the evening enclosed upon her, she forced herself to go out and do something for the love of God before the clock reached a full revolution. Celty refused to let the drab day affect her to the point of emprisoning her indoors for 24 hours.

She left the apartment without so much as a word - or a text or any message of any sort, excluding blatant body language - to Shinra. She passively left, not bothering to lock the door. It wasn't particularly purposeful, she just didn't bother. Perhaps her subconsious knew that at least a burgulary would be exciting.

Leaving the stylish building, she hesitated before continuing to walk out onto the streets, helmet on her head, though she didn't take her horse. She hadn't wandered the streets slowly in a long while, not alone at least. It left so much time for thinking and smelling the roses of the city (which, in this case, smelled a lot like cigarettes and sewers). Her thoughts were limited to only the time since her head had been stolen from her, but it didn't bother her. Being alone in the city left her plenty of time for her mind to explore as deep as her memories went and discover all sorts of new bursts of understanding. While the past of her brain was limited, the future spread ahead, further and further, to wherever she wanted to go. Hence why she had let go of the past to embrace her future.

She winced at her own cliche thoughts as they surged through her mind.

Even without her loud, mysterious bike, she brought attention to her self. Among the crowds bussled with weirdos and wackos of all types, she still managed to stand out, her clothing darker than black and hypnotizing for anyone who glanced upon it. The helmet bearing cat ears that she wore despite her mode of transportation being her own feet also failed to assist her in blending in.

As she walked on, trying her best to ignore the blatant staring she received, she felt a strong vibration against her leg from inside her tight pant pocket. She pulled her phone out roughly from her hip, glancing down to inspect the screen.

[Izaya Orihara]

She sighed, or at least, she sighed as much as she could without a mouth. It continued to puzzle why people - namely the bothersome informant - insisted on calling her on a phone when they know for a fact that she cannot talk back into the speaker. Normally, she'd ignore it until it stopped vibrating, but today was boring and the least that a call from Izaya could do was add some excitement into the day.

She waited another few second before flipping it open with another exaggerated (and mute) sigh. She held the phone to where her ear would be, and it looked more natural than usual, for she had the helmet on.

Izaya began speaking a beat afer noticing the stop in the ringing. "Why hello," he said, most annoyingly, as though she were the one who had called him. "How are you?" His whole purpose in this line of conversation was merely to aggravate her, so, instead of giving him what he wanted, she brought the phone down, positioning her fingers to flip the screen shut.

"Wait!" called the voice, duller from the distance away from her "ear". His tone wasn't urgent - Izaya was never panicked - but it was sharp and, dare it be true, serious. Orihara being serious?

She lifted it back up, briefly pondering how he had known her actions if she couldn't speak, before deciding that it was useless to try to understand the insane informant. The second the cell phone was back up, he spoke again, continuing in a much lighter tone.

"Well, I have good news and bad news! Which do you want first?"

Celty's shoulders slumped and, had she a head, her face would've deadpanned. How on earth did he expect her to answer?

"Fine, I'll start with good! It's the chronological order, anyway," his voice teased. She prayed that he would shut up and get to the point. Or just shut up.

"I found your head!" he cried, as though he were actually happy for her, which he was not even capable of. He paused for a breath, acting like he were waiting for her excited response. It never came, either because she couldn't speak or because she wasn't excited. The only thing she felt was more annoyance at the man, for she could just tell that he hadn't found it recently. If he had it, he was only telling her at this moment for some strategic reason, not because he cared one way or the other.

"Bad news, now! Ready for it?" he prompted, and his voice drove Celty to wish she could punch him through the phone line. "Someone stole it!"

And then the line went dead.

* * *

><p><strong>The ending sounds like a bad line from a horror story.<strong>


	5. Chapter 5: ?

**? ? ?**

** 9:16pm**

Ikebukuro was a city unlike any other in which anyone could do anything, and a faceless stranger walking down the street could be the man who indirectly caused the stabbing of your second cousin. Every single member of the city was connected. Like the veins of a human, everyone and everything in the city was crucial to one another, whether in its death or existence. Each and every "nobody" mattered.

That's why it should come as no surprise to anyone that a certain nobody - a very noticeable nobody - help the key to a supernatural being's world of memories.

She strutted down the street, her face a brick wall void of emotion. That's not to say, of course, that her face looked anything like a brick wall; she was actually quick beautiful. Her eyes were wide, her pupils a color that only be described as green, though that somehow seemed lacking, as though the color were much more complex than that. Her face stood out, not necessarily for its beauty, but from its obvious caucasian decent, with skin bordering on ivory white and facial geometry that screamed "foreigner."

Still, the attention she received was probably mostly attributed to her stature, for she stood at a height that threatened to overcome Simon's, and every inch of her spectacular height was covered in black - black turtle neck, black trench coat, black pants, black combat boots, black leather gloves stretching loudly between her fingers as she clenched her fist - and it made her white face glow in contrast. Possibly more amazing than that, her hair reached far over halfway down her long, long frame, the tips of her locks gently brushing against the back of her calves as her body swayed back and forth with her footsteps.

On top of that, her locks were an exceptional red, shining like a sleek stop light in the middle of a crowd containing mainly black or dark brown hair, save some bleached heads. It was also highly likely that quite a few of the many eyes that watched her were men's, oogling her prominent breasts. She would have stood out even had she been walking through the costumed citizens in Harajuku.

Yes, it was impossible for more people to notice her even if she had been carrying a severed arm under the crook of her arm.

Which she was.

The head, of course, was hidden out of sight, safely inside a fashionable bright red leather handbag that swung back and forth under her arm. It was probably the most normal feature of her entire body and attire, yet the contents inside held a mystery that went deeper than any passerby could understand. Her face remained strictly emotionless while she smiled on the inside, knowing her secret was safe even as it dangled before hundreds of strangers' eyes.

Said decapitated head was casually moving about in the bag, which was quite spacious considering it could fit the entire appendage _and_ its case (kindly provided by a certain informant) along with the woman's other items - lipstick, a cellphone, various business cards, and far more IDs than any average person could imagine possible.

The head - as it jiggled around among the seemingly normal contents of the mysterious woman's bag - bore a shocking resemblance to the lady that had it in her possession. Her eyelids, though shut, hid eyes that reflecting the female's own irises exactly. Anyone who saw the two together would swear that they were at least sisters. If the person ever stopped screaming at the sight of a decapitated head.

The woman quietly slid into a McDonald's, looking terribly out of place in the trashy facility as her boots echoed against the tile floor and heads turned towards her. She shoved the door closed behind her, ignoring the innocent customer that had followed her in and had a door pushed into his face. Her posture was rigid and proper even in the casual building, and every usual consumer became a spectator as their eyes followed her. She merely stalked to the women's bathroom, forcing the door open assertively and disappearing like a shadow behind the wooden entrance.

She immediately took the second stall which sat directly in line with the first mirror. Once sitting on the toilet - an action that almost seemed below her, for her appearance gave of the aura of someone proper - she opened her bag, ignoring the loud and conspicuous sound the zipper made. She plucked the head out of the bag and stared at its (her?) face for what seemed like eternity. She could feel her heartbeat, which had been pumping faster and faster at the stress of the confrontation she was about to make, start to relax. Just a simple glance at the face could calm her nerves. She straightened up professionally, even though no one could see, and replaced the head into her bag and zipped it back up. Her strength resolved, she prepared to make a strong impression on the person she was going to visit despite her nerves - just as a blonde teenager was at that very moment halfway across the city.

She stood up and unlocked the stall, not bothering to pretend she had peed and flush the toilet. She stepped out and was faced with an expression similar to the one she had just seen, but not quite. Her bangs were messier, as it came with long hair, and her face a bit younger. She blinked at her own reflection in the mirror, before hurrying to leave the facility.

From there, she took a taxi, driven by a cabdriver who was far too polite to have pure motives, to the apartment that was her destination. Her heart pitter-pattered before she could even manage to enter the swivel door, and her elevator ride was full of jittering nerves covered by a cool facade.

She paused outside the door, staring at the number that she had memorized to heart long ago. The numbers that ran across the door in gold were as natural in her mind as the language that came from her lips.

Her finger pressed the doorbell tentatively (unknown to her, it coincided perfectly with another previously-mentioned nervous guest who, all the way across the city, was currently visiting his old friend). Her heart fluttered with excitement.

A man in glasses with messy hair answered the door, a possibility which she hadn't considered, though it wasn't unexpected. She knew who it was instantly but still waited a second before answering his question: "Uh, and who are who?" His eyes studied her body, though not lewdly, and she knew that he could tell she was neither a patient nor a door-to-door salesman. She was different.

A moment of silence before she answered with another question "Dr. Kishitani Shinra, I presume?" Professionally.

It was as good as an answer, for it proved that she knew more than he would've liked. He stared at her face intently, slightly taken back by her knowledge along with the familiarity her face held.

"Uh..."

Their awkward silence wasn't actually broken by words, but by a quiet knocking on the hallway wall that ran perpindicular to the doorway. A hand reached out, covered in unimaginably dark black glove that elegantly held a PDA, the feminine pinky finger sticking out gracefully.

The doctor turned around at the noise, his lab coat opening a little with his movement. His shoulders relaxed at the sight of the hand, and he moved toward it to read the text on the screen.

The woman gulped, her stomach in bunches as she made the intuitive guess as to whose hand that was.

Reading the typed words, Shinra shrugged, coat loose on his arms. "I don't know. You might want to have a look at her, though..." As his words trailed away, the hand had already retreated, and the lady in the doorway heard the click-clacking of typing. She leaned forward, into the house she wasn't invited into, to try and have a look at the figure hidden by the wall.

The hand shot back out from its hiding place, and he nodded in response. "Trust me, whoever she is, it'll be fine."

A figure tentatively removed itself from behind the wall - a body that soon looked obvious female. The head was missing.

Dressed from head-to-toe in black, Celty immediately jumped back in surprise the second she saw the woman's face, one that she had surely only seen upon a teenage girl's body - Harima Mika. If she had a head, her eyes would've widened out of their sockets. She scurried to get a grip on her PDA that she had nearly dropped in her moment of shock, and she furiously typed the obvious questions on her mind. The lady could read the screen from where she stood now.

[who si shr?]

her normally perfect text was strewn with typos form her hurried writing.

[whats sge foinhg here?]

[WHY DORS SJE HAVE MY FACE?]

Of course, Celty knew it wasn't her face, but that minor detail seemed unimportant in the situation.

The woman could no longer hold back her emotions and, generously answering all the questions in place of Shinra, leaped forward, her face exploding in a smile that rarely graced her features. She enveloped the headless body, which was quite taken aback, in a hug, through her head soared much higher that the top of Celty's neck.

"I'm Bébinn Sturluson - I'm your _daughter_!"

* * *

><p><strong>Oh god, I made an OC! <strong>**/shoots herself**

**I feel like I should apologize, but does it help that I took the Mary Sue test and she isn't one?**


	6. Chapter 6: Kishitani Shinra

**Kishitani Shinra **

**9:33pm**

Shinra sat as calmly as possible, his fingers twisting and untwisting the hem of his lab coat, across the table from the woman claiming to be his fiance's daughter.

The hereditary facial structures were undeniably similar, to the point of near uncanniness. He imagined that, had his girlfriend not lacked a head, it would be unnerving to sit at a table with both of them and their twin gazes. Celty looked undescribably anxious, ready to pull her not-there hair out. He spied her hands clenching and wringing under the tabletop next to him, so he casually leaned over, his hands grabbing hers in reassurance.

Her neck shot up, positioned as though she were glared at him, though he knew she was merely startled by the human presence. Her daughter - "Bebinn" - sat across from them, a wide smile cheerfully planted on her pink lips.

Upon his answering of the door (much to his irritation - he did not want a late-night guest when he could've spent his time cuddling, or attempting to cuddle, with Celty) the young woman had held herself with great dignity and pride, her head held high. She had seemed mysterious - both from her face and from her strange amount of knowledge - and professional. This persona, though, quickly melted away the second her green eyes spotted Celty.

The guarded, mature woman seemed to be torn away as she became a giggling little girl, hugging her mother with all the enthusiasm of a three-year-old.

Ah, that was it.

"Mother."

Upon discovering one's fiance had a child hidden away somewhere, a normal person would've have responded with tears or anger or the cold shoulder. Shinra, instead, appeared delighted.

He saw her as a scientific miracle, a doorway into possibilities of great magnitude. A girl born a half-dullahan half-human hybrid was just as fascinating as Shizuo's uncontested strength. He wanted to study her partially-human body and all the possibilities it held.

Plus, she might prove that he and Celty could have a baby, a thought that gave him goosebumps of excitement.

He was slightly concerned, he'd admit, about the fact that - assuming that all the disections of Celty had given him a fair amount of knowledge on her reproduction system and it did work as any human female's would - at some point, she had participated in intercourse with some man who wasn't him. It only bothered him a little bit, for his mind, while tending to romanticize certain things, worked rationally. He knew that a) she was his now (at least, she was his as much as she could ever be anyone's) and b) judging by Bebinn's apparent age, around twenty or twenty-one, Celty probably didn't even have the memories of the event. Her mind was innocent.

He felt her PDA push against his thigh, and he looked down discretely to read the small letters. [I feel something.. its... I'm not sure, but I think I feel my head.]

The words alerted him immediately that he had, for once, misinterpreted her nervousness. She wasn't anxious about her daughter, for she was smart enough to realize the lack of need to panic and simple rationalization of the situation. She was nervous because she had sensed the presence of her head.

Shinra's gaze shot up, considerably less subtly. His eyes narrowed in on Bebinn, not threatenly, just intensely. It was obvious that her entrance into their house was the only thing that could have triggered Celty's senses. Could it be that... she had her head?

As though reading both of their thoughts, Bebinn sat up, having looked incredibly comfortable throughout the long silence. She leaned over to grab her red, name-brand leather bag from the chair she sat on, which she had hung the purse on. It was large, and it was as though everyone in the room drew a breath in and held it when she grabbed for the zipper and began to open the bag.

Her hands seemed to work in slow motion as her pale, slender fingers grasped something hidden from Shinra's view within the bag. He saw only glass first, but by then it was obvious what would be revealed inside.

Celty's head.

He could almost hear a shocked gasp come from the headless woman beside him. He himself straightened up, finding the sight both eerie and transfixing. He felt his lips subconciously curl up into a wide grin below his wide eyes.

Bebinn sat there, looking as calm and natural as ever, silently holding onto the head with a face matching her own. "Do you like it?"

Her words were directed toward Celty, her smile pleading like a child. Her facial expression, unlike the relaxed one within the container, mirrored that of a young child begging to please her elders. It was a bit unnerving to see it on the young woman's face.

Celty leaned back in her chair, but Shinra could tell she was in pain, the head mentally tugging toward her body. Despite all her talk of not needing it back and moving on from her search, he could tell it not only inticed her - below her initial layer of fear - but also seemed to hypnotize her. Her shoulders, which had leaned back in alert when the head had first been removed from the bag now slumped forward slightly, as though the head weakened her resilience.

Her daughter continued to beam like a child. Her perfect smile and closed, happy eyes mimicked that of the conniving Izaya and Aoba, though hers contained the true innocence that theirs lacked. As they feigned naivety to gain the upper hand, she already had the upper hand and merely smiled in pure joy. She was like a child on the inside.

Twitching fingers padded away on the PDA, making a soft tapping noise beside him He looked over to see Celty typing a delayed response to her daughter's question. When she finally held it up, he had to lean onto the table in order to read it without too much glare.

[Yes. How did you get it?]

His sense seemed off today, for her couldn't tell if her "yes" was a lie or not, though he figured it really was neither true or false. She merely needed to uncover how her apparent daughter had come into possession of her head.

"Ah!" the girlish woman cried excitedly. "I'm happy! How'd I get it, then? Well, once I arrived in Ikebukuro, my connections in both the association that kidnapped the informant Orihara and Yadogiri's entertainment company helped my gain knowledge on its location! The kidnapping of Orihara, while not lead by me, helped significantly! It's too bad I didn't stick around through the kidnapping - I heard you showed up! It would have been great to meet you then! I suppose, though, I'd rather meet you first when I can bring you a gift!" She enthusiastically held out the head, eager to please her mother.

Celty ignored the extended cranium. [And you found it in Izaya's possession?]

She seemed refined as she reacted to the knowledge, as though trying to be the exact opposite of the person in front of her.

"Yes! He really ought to try for better security!" This girl needed to learn to lay off the exclamation points. She seemed to not only make them as audible as possible but also use them criminally often. Her happiness and eagerness were, instead of endearing as they would be on a young child, nearly creepy.

He could tell that Celty wanted desperately to avoid both the woman and the head while still gained information, so he kindly steered the conversation somewhere else. Somewhere he was interested in going.

"So, you're part human, part dullahan?"

The statement made into a question earned another beam, and she dramatically reached to the top of her turtle neck, pulling it down to reveal a pale, slender neck devestatingly split horizontally.

As though a fusion of a normal human and a headless rider, her neck, instead of being whole, was cut in the middle, leaving her head still attached and a mind-blowingly dark line halfway through. It was smooth and clean, exactly perpindicular to her neck, though it was hard to tell, as the second she removed the fabric guarding it, black smoke poured from it, exactly like Celty's stubby neck did.

The action answered the question all on its own.

"It's what my clothes are made from right now," she said, acting as though no further explanation was needed, "just like yours, Mom!" The last part was spoken with an even larger -than-usual smile piercing her face blissfully as she addressed Celty. "May I call you that?"

Celty seemed a bit caught off guard, more so from the woman's reference to her motherhood than the mystifying neck. After regaining composer, she tentatively fingered her PDA, and Shinra could tell that she was trying to compose a response that was both polite and stern - she clearly disliked being put in a position of parenting someone.

Her severed neck bent a bit, which would have been a slight nod had she not lacked a head to nod with. She made the motion slowly, and Shinra could see the obvious reluctance that lay behind the action. The girl, who seemed perceptive enough, especially considering her recapturing of the head, remained ignorant to her mother's discomfort, though. Instead, her perfect lips merely arched further and her green eyes closed in ecstasy. Shinra confirmed that she was indeed fairly creepy.

"So, then," Bebinn said, her smile dropping a bit, as though a tad concerned or confused. The couple leaned forward nervously, sure that she was going to say somethign of real value. Her pale hands wrung each other under the table, and she blurted out the words that she had held back. "Should I call you 'Dad?'"

She addressed Shinra, leaning forward quickly, to the point where her face was only a few inches from his. Her grin returned and nearly blinded the doctor at such close proximity. He choked a bit at the unexpected question and flinched away, glasses riding up the ridge of his nose.

"Uh," Shinra muttered, drawn out and long in a weak attempt to stall for time. His eyes flickered to Celty, and he could instantly tell she would be no help. Just as he was, she out of her comfort zone - although this rarely seemed to happen to his fiance.

"O...kay?" It was spoken as a question, but she accepted it as a definite answer. That is, she reacted with a squeal and jumped up and down in her seat, making the plastic squeak out in pain.

"It's just like a family!"

Oblivious to their awkwardness, Bebinn continued to celebrate their "family-like" environment, while the couple in front of her sat questioning her sanity.

And one of them also wondered exactly what it would look like to cut her open.

And so he put on his best doctor act - straightened his back and adjusting his glasses - and asked, as politely as one could, if he could preform an autopsy on her.

And the both intimidating and innocent girl blinked once before nodding with as much enthusiasm as someone would when offered ice cream.

"Alrighty!"

* * *

><p><strong>Oopsy, no dash over the e in Bebinn this time. I'll fix that sometime...<strong>


	7. Chapter 7: Chatroom

**Note: Anytime there are 3s and they look oddly placed, it's because doesn't like less than signs and they were supposed to be hearts.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chatroom <strong>

**11:46pm**

_Setton has just joined the chat._

_Bakyura_

Which is exactly why

_Tanaka Taro_

Good evening, Setton-san.

_Bakyura_

Evening!

_Setton_

Hello.

_Setton_

Did I interrupt anything?

_Bakyura_

Nothing, nothing.

_Bakyura_

How are you?

_Setton_

Eh... how am I, indeed...

_Bakyura_

?

_Tanaka Taro_

What do you mean?

_Setton_

Nothing important. It's just been an... interesting night.

_Bakyura_

I'll toast to that!

_Tanaka Taro_

You can't properly make a toast on chat...

_Setton_

So has your night been strange?

_Bakyura_

Yeah!

_Bakyura_

Actually, now that I think about it nothing much happened...

_Setton_

?

_Bakyura_

Nevermind, my evening's been boring.

_Tanaka Taro_

ww You changed your mind quickly.

_Bakyura_

Yep! My night has been as boring and lonely as ever! ;A;

_Setton_

Well mine actually was weird.

_Tanaka Taro_

What happened?

_Setton_

Eh, it's a bit of a long story...

_Saika has just joined the chat._

_Bakyura_

You should tell it! Is it a tale of adventure?

_Saika_

Hello

_Tanaka Taro_

Good evening, Saika!

_Setton_

Good evening.

_Bakyura_

Hello, hello!

_Saika_

It sounds as though you've all had odd nights...

_Bakyura_

Nope! Nothing happened to me, at least!

_Bakyura_

How about you, Taro?

_Tanaka Taro_

Now that you mention it, mine was quite out of the ordinary...

_Tanaka Taro_

What about you, Saika?

_Saika_

A bit of something happened, but it probably isn't important.

_Bakyura_

?

_Saika_

I'll explain later if it ends up mattering.

_Saika_

So what happened to Setton-san?

_Tanaka Taro_

Yeah, I am interested in hearing!

_Setton_

Just a bit of... family drama, would you call it?

_Setton_

I don't know.

_Bakyura_

Sounds confusing! x)

_Setton_

Yeah, a bit...

_Setton_

A lot...

_Tanaka Taro_

Ah, well I hope everything works out.

_Saika_

Me too!

_Setton_

Thank you.

_Kanra has just joined the chat._

_Setton_

I think that

_Bakyura_

Eh? What's with all the late night visitors?

_Kanra_

Could it be you're not happy to see me, Bakyura? ;A;

_Setton_

Hello.

_Saika_

Good evening!

_Tanaka Taro_

Good evening.

_Kanra_

Eh? Could it be that I'm the only on who's had a dreadfully boring night?

_Bakyura_

DOES NO ONE LISTEN TO ME? I said my evening was eventless!

_Kanra_

Aw, you little liar~ You're just tsundere for the night!

_Tanaka Taro_

ww

_Bakyura_

That doesn't even make sense!

_Bakyura_

Ugh. Whatever. Yeah, stuff happened.

_Setton_

Care to share?

_Bakyura_

What is this, show and tell?

_Kanra_

Something to hide, hm?

_Bakyura_

O/O No!

_Saika_

Sorry to change the subject, but has anyone heard the rumor about Dollars?

_Tanaka Taro_

Rumor? What is it?

_Bakyura_

Do tell!

_Saika_

Probably nothing important, but I've heard a couple people saying that there's an individual targeting members and killing them off...

_Setton_

Oh, I heard that the other day!

_Tanaka Taro_

No way...

_Kanra_

Oh yes! There were some reports in the news, but they couldn't directly relate it to Dollars.

_Bakyura_

Woah! The city is never quiet, is it?

_Kanra_

Plus, I heard the Yellow Scarves are reforming!

_Kanra_

Wah! The city's so scary! A

_Bakyura_

They're just rumors though...

_Setton_

The rumors around here are often true to what actually happens...

_Tanaka Taro_

?

_Setton_

There's just some really strange stuff going on...

_Saika_

Sorry, I've got to go!

_Tanaka Taro_

Good night!

_Bakyura_

Bye!

_Setton_

Good evening!

_Saika has just left the chat._

_[PRIVATE MODE] Bakyura_

Any particular reason you felt anyone needed to know about Yellow Scarves?

_[PRIVATE MODE] Kanra_

Now, now, it's no big deal. Just rumors, after all.

_[PRIVATE MODE] Bakyura_

It doesn't matter. No one needs to be hearing it.

_Tanaka Taro_

So why do you think Yellow Scarves would reform?

_[PRIVATE MODE] Kanra_

And by "no one," you mean to say that Mikado shouldn't know?

_Setton_

Who knows, the gangs around here are getting rowdier than ever.

_[PRIVATE MODE] Bakyura_

Go die in a hole. -_-

_[PRIVATE MODE] Kanra_

Getting a bit too TsunTsun there. Besides, Mikado has enough underworld contacts to already know a lot about it.

_[PRIVATE MODE] Bakyura_

Shut up.

_[PRIVATE MODE] Kanra_

What an eloquent argument.

_Bakyura_

I still thinks it's just a lie. They disappeared.

_[PRIVATE MODE] Tanaka Taro_

Masaomi?

_Tanaka Taro_

I'm not sure.

_Setton_

I think I'll just try to avoid the gang business... I have enough to deal with.

_Bakyura_

Ooh, what a vague and mystrious statement~! Tell more, tell more!

_Setton_

I already said the gist of it...

_Tanaka Taro_

Hey, where'd Kanra-chan get off to?

_Bakyura_

She went back home, to the very depths of hell.

_Kanra_

Sorry! I was getting something to eat!

_Kanra_

So about Yellow Scarves,

_Bakyura_

No! No more of this!

_[PRIVATE MODE] Kanra_

Aww, is someone a wittle angwy?

_[PRIVATE MODE] Tanaka Taro_

Masaomi?

_Setton_

Shit!

_Bakyura_

?

_Setton_

Sorry, there's something I have to attend to!

_Setton has just left the chat._

_Tanaka Taro_

Good bye!

_Tanaka Taro_

Oh, just missed her.

_Kanra_

Must've been awful urgent, hm?

_Bakyura_

I think I'm going to go now, too.

_[PRIVATE MODE] Bakyura_

Kindly go eat shit.

_Bakyura_

My hoards of fans await me elsewhere! I bid you ado!

_[PRIVATE MODE] Kanra_

333

_Tanaka Taro_

Good night, then!

_Bakyura_

Good night!

_[PRIVATE MODE] Bakyura_

...Sorry,

_[PRIVATE MODE] Tanaka Taro_

?

_[PRIVATE MODE] Tanaka Taro_

Wait!

_Bakyura has just left the chat._

_Kanra_

It's just us, then.

_Tanaka Taro_

Yeah...

_Tanaka Taro_

For a while, there, our chat seemed just like it used to, a year or so ago.

Kanra

It did.

_Kanra_

Mikado.

_Kanra_

...

_Kanra_

Good luck! 3

_Kanra has just left the chat._

_Tanaka Taro_

I'm alone, then...

_Tanaka Taro_

Good luck, huh?

_Tanaka Taro has just left the chat._

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><p><strong>In which private chats got confusing, everyone on the internet speaks in proper grammar for once, and I avoid editing stories that I should be...<strong>


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